


Skylights and Flowers

by AllHailProHeroThirteen04102016



Series: First Time Writing (And Making a Shitton of Writer Mistakes) [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Attempt in romance, F/M, Gen, author's dream was vague as hell as well, can be interpreted as friendship i guess, probably sucks, writing is vague as hell cuz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24471565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllHailProHeroThirteen04102016/pseuds/AllHailProHeroThirteen04102016
Summary: Skull doesn't have eyes nor the need to breathe.But she almost saw him avert his gaze shamefully, his hitched breath."I want to get out of here."
Series: First Time Writing (And Making a Shitton of Writer Mistakes) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1720624
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Skylights and Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Odd dreams create odd fics.
> 
> I WROTE THIS IN MAY AND WONDERED IF I SHOULD EVEN PUBLISH THIS BUT HERE WE AREEEE

You open your eyes.

There was nothing wrong with what you see, or at least, that's what your dream-addled mind tells you.

The blue-lit cathedral with its cracked walls and life seeping through cracks was a far cry from where you fell asleep. Or did you fall asleep? That doesn't matter, because you're here now, but you don't know what you're supposed to do.

With how dreams go, it usually gives to a purpose, ranging from mundane to downright bizzare.

Ignoring the memory of an old dream, (being Madam McGonagall's sidekick during a zombie apocalypse) you scan the scene.

The cathedral is vaguely reminiscent of Notre Dame, not in appearance but in the awe and sense of peace it inspires, and there's a fog of lilies disappearing and reappearing, brushing against your thigh. Their petals shine bright in some unseen moonlight, despite not having any windows for light to pass through, and the door locked shut and heavy with iron weights.

(You haven't seen the moon, yet your dream tells you that it was moonlight. You have yet to gain enough awareness to protest and numbly accept the unrealistic thought as fact.)

The fog stirs lightly around your feet.

You think for a moment that your purpose is to aimlessly wander about until you figure out a way to get out, to unlock the door or tear it down brick by brick, heedless to how your hands would bleed because you cannot feel pain in dreams.

But you find something white at the edge of your vision. From afar, it looked like a vine, heavy with white flowers, clinging to slabs of rock haphazardly. As you walk towards it, a mere whimsical thought controlling your dream body to sate that brief sting of curiosity, you realize that it wasn't a plant but a skeleton.

You have never seen a skeleton in your life. Only in documentaries, in pictures of artifacts and echoes of old signs of humans, never in person. Unlike the videos and pictures, it wasn't yellowish but it was white, the clean kind, and its pure color is magnified by how it almost glowed under the moonlight.

There are no flowers near it, as if they could sense death from the thing lying on the slabs of stone.

There was no precedence or warning to what you do next: you sit down and start making a crown of flowers.

Time passes peacefully, the calm steady while flowers bloom and fade in an unknown pattern.

Eventually, you finish and put it around the skull of the skeleton. You feel no disgust or fear when you lift it up; your only reaction is a few "eeps" and "oops" when smaller bones fall out, fall off and scatter away from their original positions. You don't hear it, nor do you feel your fingertips brushing against bone, but you somehow just _know._

You wake up and don't remember the dream. But your heart feels a little lighter.

The next time you dream of the cathedral, you notice the dream is sharper. You don't remember that you've dreamt of the same scene before, walked on the same blue lit stones.

You don't remember that the white flowers never looked solid, never looked the same or stayed in one place. Now they're rigid and stubborn, petals curled before it will bloom and unseen roots disappearing into the cracks.

You don't know about the cracks being far bigger than it was supposed to.

A skeleton was there, but it was upright and watching.

Watching you back.

The discovery shocked you so much you woke up almost immediately.

You remember none of the dreams, like always.

Still, you converse with the skeleton out of sheer boredom and lack of purpose.

"So, what's with the chains?" You casually say, foot nudging against an ankle, heavy with iron.

The skeleton shrugged.

"Even in death, life can shackle you, huh?"

You aren't expecting an answer.

It gives you one anyway.

"Perhaps. I recommend against murder and torture."

"Why?" Its jaw twitches, as if it smiled. That's probably just your imagination.

"It's just not worth it."

You give it a couple flowers for troubling them.

They seem a little grateful, and tries to give your hand a kiss. Before you can feel bare teeth against skin, you wake up, feeling a little flustered for some reason.

The skeleton was wearing a simple white shirt and black trousers. It's weird to look at.

You've never seen it before. You wanted to ask where the heck they got them in the first place. Yet, the first thing your dream self asks was, "Why are you here?"

It shoves its hands in its pants, balancing himself on the balls of his feet. "Why not?" You pout at him. Its jaw adjusts in a way that reminded you of a grin. "Who says that I wanted to be."

You note that their gait and voice speak of a man. Perhaps any other would immediately know that it's male or female by simply looking at the pelvis, but she has no comparison for the 3D version, plus it's pelvis is currently covered.

"Are you a man?"

They laugh a little.

Before you wake up, you see the nod.

_Ah, he's a--_

You see a skeleton chasing flowers.

Before he could even get within a foot they wilt and wither away.

He spots you and you flinch. He flinches as well.

Skulls don't have eyes nor the need to breathe.

Skeletons without muscle or nervous systems shouldn't be able to flinch in the first place.

But it was a dream, so you don't question any of it.

You almost see him avert his gaze shamefully, his hitched breath betraying hurt.

"I want to get out of here."

You step forward, words already flying from your mouth: "How can I help?"

But reality start nudging away Morpheus' hymn for her mind and pulls her back down.

She catches a whisper of _flowers._

You try to bring him flowers.

The flower themselves flee from your grip, roots pushing itself out of the loosely curled fingers, jumps and disappears into the soupy fog much to your shock.

The skeleton man looked as surprised as you. "Those things can fucking _walk?_ Did it just use its roots like they're limbs? _What the fuck is this Disney?_ " He does a good job of speaking your thoughts aloud, though.

You try to crack a grin. "Isn't this situation straight out of a Disney movie?"

He does the equivalent of a snort. You don't know how you know that. "Never heard of one involving skeletons."

You don't hear the rest; you're too busy trying to grab flowers in tighter grips, but every single one keeps escaping.

One flower spits its petals at your face and shatters into dust.

Frustration couldn't surmise how you felt at that. Not only were the flowers whiny and petty, but you also have to make sure that they're in good condition else they'll just turn to dust and these things can self-destruct out of spite.

Whatever plan you had in mind literally blew up in your face.

As the waking world crept in, the last thing your heard were the skeleton's guffaws.

Sometimes, you get tired of trying to get the flowers. You get sick of flowers enough to try sitting next to the skeleton.

The skeleton jumps, shocked, and the loud rattling of the chains echoes deep in your bones, reminding you that he's a prisoner of this place.

You two talk about anything and everything.

You try to shower him in petals. Sadly enough, it's like there's an invisible barrier the petals slide over.

You can't see your feet in the fog of flowers anymore.

Skeleton man asks you, why are you even trying?

There was no answer, except for the barrage of flowers being thrown and falling apart in the invisible barriers.

He's quieter now, but with less qualms with voicing his sarcasm and inner feelings.

You won't remember it anyway, he'd say, breaking your heart at the resigned, defeated tone he took.

It also pissed you off.

It was painful to be dismissed like that. He knows that.

You know what he's trying to do.

"You asked why I'm even trying. I'm wondering that myself," you stated coldly. "But seeing you like this made me understand why."

"Because you gave up."

It was a few days of silence on both their parts.

You don't remember much of the dreams, but you can feel the distinct sense of irritation when you find your eyes drawn to the skeleton.

You forget your purpose in these dreams.

Regardless, you create a crown of flowers, feeling a little apologetic.

You turn to offer your creation but

as you place it on their head, it bursts.

You avert your eyes, and when you open them, the skeleton was holding your hands.

"I'm sorry," they say.

You try to smile. It feels a little wobbly, when something in you twists and hurts at the sincerity.

You don't remember them, but they can hurt you in two words.

Perhaps they were someone special to you.

"I'm sorry as well."

He tells you how he has been staying in the limbo for so long.

At first, he was screaming, cursing, and begging for his freedom, before he got tired of hearing his desperate wails echoing in the cathedral.

At first, he thought he was Prometheus, someone punished for trying to help.

But he eventually figures out his sins and realized that he's Icarus, punished to drown in a sea of blue fog.

He doesn't say it outright, but you eventually figure out that he hurt a lot of people while trying to soar high, reaching for the sun, before he fell.

You figure out that he hasn't forgiven himself yet.

(He wishes to have flesh, not for the sake of vanity or familiarity, but to be able to make himself bleed.)

You don't say it, because the time wasn't right, you think. Right now, you need to listen.

There was an unknown "or else," a consequence you do not understand in the dream, what would happen if you deviate from the script.

(There was a vague thought that the chains exist, perhaps not to trap him to one place, but to protect him from himself.)

So you lie there next to him, silent, while holding his hand to remind him you're here.

Because while this man feels trapped, you're the only one who has a clear mind and a fresh perspective.

You'd know if this place was meant to trap and punish.

(It isn't.)

Churches like these are places of worship...acceptance and forgiveness.

While you had apologized as well, you are well-aware of the resentment that had long been stirring in your heart.

Why is it that you were plucked away from the sea of living to dream to help this man every night? Why you?

But you eventually learn to accept it. It's frustrating, it's thankless, but most things are.

Holding on to anger and hate will just hurt anyone in the long run.

You'll have to help teach him that.

"I never actually said it before, huh," you ponder aloud.

You turn to him, smiling.

You kneel before the confused man and hold his hand the same way he held yours the first time.

"I forgive you."

_And it's time for you to forgive yourself as well._

You still try to give him flowers.

They decay as you approach the "barrier."

"You know that you did bad things."

"Yes."

"You haven't forgiven yourself for it."

 _That's none of your business_ , his posture seemed to say.

"It's alright," your smile is a little lopsided now.

"You don't have to, if you don't want to."

You do nothing.

You mostly pick up flowers to try and fail to give the the brooding skeleton. You're a servant of the Underworld, where Persephone wished for flowers and Hades gave you this impossible task. It's a process that still makes you tired and bored, so sometimes you would lie on the pavement and look at the cracked ceiling.

You'd talk about anything or just stay silent, peering at the moonlight that spills over the skull and in between of the exposed ribs, pretending that the enclosed spaces of the skeleton was a skylight to the sky. You say nothing about his sins, about his life, his regrets and feelings.

You have no right to try influencing his decisions.

Everything is up to him.

The script that has been dictating your thoughts, actions and words wavers and stutters at your true feelings, true thoughts.

When life has screwed him over without prompting, death was a time where you can think for yourself.

That was a kind of freedom life cannot provide.

You are not going to deprive him of that, or planning to do so either.

There was a rare time where you'd remember your dreams.

In the waking world, you'd feel your heart ache at the faint impressions of knowing someone else, in another place, at a timeless void. You can't imagine to spend eternity there.

He hasn't moved on yet.

You manage to bring a flower to the dream.

It was a shock of warmth, a sun lying in the bloom of petals that turn silver in the unseen moonlight. You imagine that it how it would look if gold spills in the same colors under the moon.

The skeleton reaches out, tentatively curling his hands around the rose.

The air seemed to hold its breath as he looks down at the flower he held. Marveling at the color in contrast to the midnight blues of the night tinted cathedral and the bone white curls of the lilies that swam in the thick fog like stars.

"I can't forgive myself yet."

_But thank you._

You cannot forgive yourself if you cannot accept the full reality of your actions.

_One step closer._

The chains are gone the next time you dream.

He can walk around the entire cathedral that be restricted to chasing flowers in the limited area he's in.

Now without his burden of chains and shackles, he's shockingly playful. Or not so shocking after all, considering all those conversations you've held.

You indulge the high of his euphoria in his freedom, playing with him instead of plucking flowers (no longer visible in the fog that reached your thigh) and allowing him to chase you, and for you to chase him.

He hugs you. Neither of you say a word, but you can still hear how grateful he was.

"I imagine that you'd look good in flowers."

Sometimes you'd find him chasing flowers. The barrier has shortened and she sees how the flowers flee later, the flowers wither _only_ when he's within seven inches that a foot away. The sight lit hope within you and him.

Then there are times he would get tired, and he'd dance in his lonesome. He'd stutter in his movements, but you would ask him to dance and you'd sit and watch from his original place when he was shackled.

The fog was already covering the large debris and chains, reaching your hips and you could no longer see your knees.

Despite being a skeleton, he was oddly graceful.

One time, you would be pulled into a dance. You are not used to it and kept stepping on his feet. You kept shrieking apologies, blaming the fog, your disdain for any kind of physical activities, the dance itself and even him. He'd laugh, saying that you could keep dancing with him because he can't feel any pain anyway.

"I didn't think anyone could dance this badly, if you'd call this a dance!" He'd guffaw. "Two left feet!"

Your dance was clumsy, so he took liberties to pull your arms and subtly manipulate your limbs to match his. Seeing how capable he was, you let him lead you; it was oddly fun even when it felt vaguely like being tossed around. That feeling lessens gradually the more you two dance.

The air felt warm and alive.

One day, you had a brilliant idea.

You held a bunch of petals in your arms, and the skeleton man would launch you in the air. While he doubted his strength, you were too childishly excited about making it shower petals.

You two manage to do it.

In dreams, gravity was a concept that was fluid and changing, enabling you to float down heavily as though you were in water.

Some of the petals glide over the skeleton. The sight delighted you, for some reason.

(Flowers suited him.)

He catches you and spins you a little in his arms.

You hug him and press your forehead to his. Your legs slide from his hold to his hips.

He lets you fall, laughing at your yelp.

There was no pain.

At the sound of his laugh, you smile as warmth overwhelmed your heart.

_Once you forgive yourself, you can take a chance at truly enjoying happiness without doubting if you deserve to be happy in ghe first place._

_Sometimes you need someone to remind you of that._

You take another chance to bring a flower.

This time it was a red rose. The other flowers in the shop didn't have colors that was as lively as yellow and red; greens were muted, blue looked too much like the cathedral, purple was to close to blue, and both of you are sick of white flowers at this point. The shop was out of tiger lilies, which was sad when the flower had a good design and a nice orange hue to it. So red it was, and you chose the most vibrantly colored one.

But when you arrive in the dream, the fog reached your chest and the lilies are no longer glowing.

The skeleton was holding a bunch of white flowers, practically adorned in them. Not one was glowing. The cathedral was dim, the moon barely lighting the place. There was a slump to his shoulders that pained to look at, to know what it meant.

_It isn't working._

You approach and gently remove the lilies from his body and the hollows of his arms. He didn't move much.

You offer him the rose. "This isn't much, but I hope that we'll find some other way."

_Was it too late? Is he stuck here? In this dark room?_

You try to smile. It was strangely easy.

He takes the rose.

The colors dribble out and the rose violently turned white--

Blood stains his hands but he doesn't move to clean it

_why?_

You try to wipe it but he out maneuvers you and you're suddenly pulled into the fog.

You wake up.

The last thing you remember was an echo of a smile.

You don't get weird dreams anymore.

You don't remember anything about it either.

It was Halloween.

Your family gets invited to the festival.

There was plenty of dancing but that was mostly at sundown. The real focus was the food, and the mess that was the place where people dance in the roads was more of an after-party sort.

You were busy pigging out on the chocolate and marshmallows when someone asked you to dance.

His smile reminded you of something.

You give them a weird look, and said, "I need to wash my hands first."

"Go ahead."

You ran for it.

When you got out, he's still there. _What the heck._

Instead of thinking too hard about it, you just took his hand.

"Don't regret this."

He grinned, amused. "I won't."

"Even after all this time, you still got two left feet?!"

You figure that he's one of her poor dance partners in the past. "I told you."

The laugh still made your heart hurt.

"You're still dancing with me."

"I am."

You were somehow matching his movements. The way you twisted and glided around each other, together felt oddly familiar.

"I imagine that you'd look good in flowers."

His movement stuttered for a moment. He bit, "I imagine that you're a forgetful woman."

"Yep." You don't even deny it.

_"If this was your last day on Earth, what would you wish for?"_

_"...a final dance."_

At some point you get tired and he practically had to drag you to a table.

You bid each other goodbye, feeling sad. You really enjoyed his company.

You don't remember the man, whoever he was, but you look forward to meeting with him next year, and you tell him so.

He looks a little sad. Why is he sad?

"This is the last time I'll get to dance."

Your eyes dart to his legs (nothing's wrong with them?) and he laughs (it sounds wrong) when he noticed. "No, not in that way."

"Sure it isn't." You grin at him. "Good luck on your journey to Heaven, man," you try to jest, but instead it comes out too serious, sincere.

His smiles is a little bit more honest, less sad. "I will."

One final hug, and he disappeared past the festival lights.

The sense of finality didn't hurt. Instead, it just made you a little sad, like you found closure about an old friend.

You don't see him again.

Or remember much of him.

Maybe someday you will see him in Heaven as well, but you wouldn't know that.

You're content to live life as is, without murder or torture like that guy sentenced to death a long while back.

If you appreciate a bit more seeing the moon in those rare nights or planting moon flowers and lilies, well, that was no one's business.


End file.
